


Hawk-Guy

by tartshapedbox (orphan_account)



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, Fluff, Protective Clint, described aftermath of physical abuse, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tartshapedbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton's lonely life is changed when Natasha Romanov transfers to his high school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawk-Guy

Clint sat on a little balcony overlooking the courtyard of his high school, letting him have a full view of all the comings and goings of every student. He liked it up there. He felt like a bird of prey being able to watch everything and everyone. He often watched the other teenagers eat and chat amongst friends.

            Friends. That was a foreign concept to Clint. No one had ever taken the time to get to know him; they just assumed the general perception of him being a freak was correct and moved on. Nothing to see there.

            Not that it bothered Clint. He didn’t mind at all. His mind worked better when he was up high and alone. He basked in his staccato solitude.

            Clint shoved the last bite of his ham and mayo sandwich into his mouth and gathered his garbage, ready to head to English, when he felt a presence behind him. He sat up straight, preparing himself for the usual verbal lashing from the principal for being up on the terrace without permission. When nothing but uneasy silence permeated the air, he slowly turned his head to see a tiny girl with short, stunning red hair.

            He looked at her speculatively. He’d never run into anyone but Mr. Clark up here, much less a girl that looked like she belonged at the cheerleader’s table. He’d never seen her before, he was sure. He’d have remembered that hair. And those gorgeous emerald eyes. Wow, she was pretty.

Yes, he  _definitely_ would have remembered her.

            “What do you want?” Clint snapped, harsher than he meant to. He hadn’t had to partake in actual conversation in so long; he’d forgotten how to control his voice.

            She didn’t smile. She didn’t reply. She didn’t do anything except for sit beside him on the stone wall of the balcony, her legs swinging freely off the side. “Quiet.”

            It wasn’t a command, Clint knew. It was the answer to his question. His expression softened and he looked at her. Her profile was immaculate: a smooth forehead, a perfect nose, full lips. She was quite literally the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. “I don’t know you,” he stated.

            “Because I’m new.” She spoke with a fading accent, one Clint couldn’t quite place. She looked up into his penetrating grey eyes, eyes she didn’t particularly like, if only because she felt they could read her every thought. “My name is Natasha.” She twisted her frame to look over the railing at the people bustling below.

            Clint smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. Nothing sounded as sweet as that elusive accent. “Clint. Clint Barton. Nice to meet you,” he said softly.

            “Nice to meet you too, Hawk-guy.” The corners of her mouth flickered in the ghost of a smile. “That’s what they called you when I asked who you were.”

            Clint dropped his eyes and let out an unamused chuckle. “Sounds about right.”

            She didn’t seem to hear him. “Why are you up here, anyway?”

            He took a quick glance at the now-scarcely-populated school yard and shrugged. “I  don’t really know. I guess I just like to watch people, and being up high. That sounds creepy, I know.” He averted his eyes and blushed a little.

            She was unaffected. “It doesn’t sound creepy to me. Just… incredibly useless considering we’re at a school and not a prison camp.”

            Clint raised an eyebrow at her unusual reply. Prison camp?  _Alrighty then._  “It lets me get to know people without ever having to meet them.” He looked around the tiny balcony. “I’m kind of a loner, if you haven’t noticed,” he muttered. He didn’t trust people. Going through countless foster homes did that to a person.

            She nodded. “I understand that.” She took a bitter chocolate bar from her pocket and unwrapped it, soon munching on the contents. It was like, 90% cocoa. Not sweet. At all. Still, she offered him a bite. He politely declined. “But you seem pleasant enough to be a part of them.” She pointed at a table to the back of the courtyard, where the few remaining blow-hard jocks sat with their blonde, empty-headed, flat-chested girlfriends in their laps. Clint noticed her grimace in recognition at some of them.

            He looked in the same direction and guffawed. “Me, pleasant? You obviously haven’t been here long enough to hear of me.” He rolled his eyes and sat on his hands.  _Pleasant_ wasn’t a word that anyone would use to describe him. “They giving you trouble?” He asked about the athletes.

            “Men give me trouble in general. They treat women like objects. What’s even more horrifying is that the women let them.” She sighed. “The girls give me trouble because the men are attracted to me. They say it’s because I’m foreign. Apparently, that’s desired here.” Her train of thought switched tracks for a second. “So, what are you? A trouble maker?” The idea of befriending a rabble-rouser pleased her. She wasn’t exactly a saint.

            “Trouble maker, freak, asshole, loner. That’s a brief summary of me according to all of them.” He shrugged, but his eyes found their way to hers. She was strong  _and_ beautiful. He’d never met someone like her. “And that’s unfortunately how most people act here. It’s disgusting.” He thought for a moment. “Speaking of foreign, where are you from? I’ve been trying to place your accent, but I can’t.”

            “Believe it or not, that’s how most people are everywhere.” She rolled her eyes and groaned. “I was born in Russia. I’ve moved around a lot. The accents have kind of mixed together.” She smiled.

            “I can kind of relate to that,” he said, thinking back to every foster home he’d ever laid his head down in before he’d turned eighteen.

            “Well, it’s good that we have something in common, because I’ll be tagging along with you.” She wasn’t asking permission. She was simply stating it as a fact. She tilted her head. “It would be a little less odd for me to get into a fight with one of them,” she jerked her thumb back in the general direction of the jocks, “if a trouble-maker started it, wouldn’t it?”

            He smiled at her fondly. A friend. He’d never had one of those. “I suppose it would be,” he said happily.

            She looked at him quizzically. “I’m only going to bring you trouble. Why are you smiling about that?” Actually, it was a pretty adorable smile. “I understand why you’re called a freak, eh?” Her tone wasn’t offensive; again, she was just stating.

            Clint rolled his eyes. She was a piece of work. “I’m used to people bringing me trouble, but I don’t think that’s what you’re bringing me, honestly. Maybe it’s just because I  _am_ a freak.”

            It was Natasha’s turn to roll her eyes. “No, you’re not. Aside from the whole watching-people-from-high-places thing. You’re pretty cool; believe it or not.” She frowned and swallowed the last piece of her chocolate.

              
            The tips of Clint’s ears turned red and he shrugged slightly. “I don’t know. I’m antisocial. I just don’t trust people.” He stared down at the few remaining stragglers in the courtyard. Everyone would be at their lockers by now, awaiting the bell that signaled the next class. So predictable.

            “What is there in people to be trusted?” She snorted. “And here they call that weird? Americans.”

She turned her nose up and said something in Russian, making Clint chuckle. He’d never met a Communist before. Who knew they’d be this entertaining?

Natasha whipped her head around. “Something wrong?”

He ginned at her. “Nah. Just the whole Russian thing. It totally works for you.” He chuckled again, but then realized how odd that had sounded.

“Works for me?” She raised a dark eyebrow and half-smiled at him quizzically. She had to admit he was quite attractive, but he was so strange. “You’re different, Barton.”

He smiled and felt his cheeks get hot. “Is that a good thing?” He asked, looking back at her pretty smile.

She seemed to think for a moment, then said, “I like it.” She shrugs. “And I usually don’t like anything.” Her expression sobers and she nods, swinging her legs. “What class do you have next?”

He blushed further and tried to remember. “Uh, I have English next, then History,” he said softly.

She nods. “So do I.” She ran her fingers through her blazing hair and sighed contentedly. “Looks like I really am tagging along.”

He smiled wider. “Cool. Maybe this year won’t be as horrible as I thought it would be.”

Suddenly, the bell rings, screeching at the students to get to their next class. Natasha jumped up quickly and offered Clint her hand. “C’mon. Let’s go, freak.”

Clint chuckled and took her tiny hand. They made their way to English, and Clint took his usual seat in the back corner, and Natasha took the usually-empty seat beside him.

Mid-way through the class, Natasha quietly fell asleep with her head in her hands.

Clint chuckled. She  _was_ pretty cute.

——————————————-

For the next few weeks, this routine continued. They had a majority of classes together, they sat together, she slept through most classes, and he smiled at her sleeping form, unknowingly falling for her more and more each day.

Nat always got the highest grades, despite her naps, if you didn’t count the geniuses like Stark and Banner. She was teased by the jocks and picked on by the cheerleaders. When she wasn’t with Clint, she locked herself in the handicapped stall of the girls’ bathroom and read.

When Clint wasn’t with Natasha, he tried to focus on his work instead of the constant assault of her face on his thoughts.

When they were together, they talked about everything and nothing; they talked about things like nature and magic and religion, as well as their favorite foods, movies and books, but never about their personal lives. They shared lunch every once in a while on the terrace, and enjoyed the envious/lustful looks from the empty-headed jocks who were jealous of Clint, of all people, for having hooked the beautiful foreign exchange student. Or when they really wanted privacy, they’d eat on the hidden stairs behind the cafeteria. That was how they passed their time.

Once in a while, Natasha would show up with bruises on her face and arms. One time, she showed up with a black eye and dismissed Clint angrily and wouldn’t speak to him until the next day. Clint knew that she would just get angrier of he asked about it, so he kept quiet.

Six months passed rather quickly, and one day, Natasha didn’t show up for school at all. Clint barely endured his classes, chewing his fingernails and worrying about where his perfect-attendance friend could be and if she was alright. He didn’t even know where she lived. He couldn’t go check on her.

He made the walk home faster than usual and sprinted to the phone, only to realize he didn’t have her phone number either. He put the phone back on the hook and went to his room, where he sat on the edge of his bed, tense and almost worried to death. He bit his nails down to the quick and stared at the floor until around 4 A.M., when he finally passed out from exhaustion.

——————————-

At school the next day, Clint didn’t go to his first class; he just went and sat on the balcony and waited. Natasha showed up about an hour late, and she looked every bit as exhausted as he felt. He let out a sigh of relief at her appearance, but as he noticed her swollen-shut eye and the cut on her forehead that obviously went further back into her hairline, he sucked it back in. “Natasha,” he breathed out sadly.

“What?” She snapped as she threw her bookbag to the stone floor and slid down next to him.

He gaped at her battered face. “What… happened?”

She waved the question off dismissively. “I fell.”

Pattern response to everything. Clint knew it wasn’t true. She always said that, but he knew it couldn’t be right. She was a ballerina for Christ’s sake. “Nat. You’re the most graceful person at this school. You don’t fall.”

“Clint.” She held up her hand. “Don’t.” She looked right into his eyes, which reflected her broken expression. “Just don’t."

He let out a sigh. He had fallen in love with this girl sometime over the past six months. She was the one person he cared about. “I’m here for you whenever you want to talk, okay?”

She paused for a moment, then looked at him and nodded. “Okay.” She’d fallen in love with Clint that first day, which sucked, because she didn’t know how to love or be loved. She’d never had the chance. She snapped out of her haze and tried to be a bit more cheerful. “C’mon. We have Gym.” She grabbed his hand and stood up, but stopped short. “You didn’t get in any fights yesterday, did you?” They had managed to keep out of trouble so far, but she was about out of patience with some of the kids in their class.

He chuckled and locked his arm in hers. “Of course not.”

“That’s good, because I’m about to punch Stark.” She snarled, dragging him along to the gymnasium.

“Yeah, but that’s every day,” he teased.

“I know, but he called me last night. I don’t even know how he got my number. I haven’t given it to anyone.” She made a mental note to give it to Clint. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t by now.

He chuckled. “He did? What a brat. What did he say?”

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing harmful. He just wanted me to talk in Russian to him.” She shook her head.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “And people call  _me_ a freak,” he said, thinking about how he was going to kill Tony Stark later.

———————————

They made their way to the gym, and the two got changed in the boys and girls locker rooms before meeting back up in front of the bleachers.

Natasha stood with her arms crossed and a half-smile on her face as Clint approached her. She was so beautiful; she just radiated her amazing soul. Clint’s heart dropped only when he saw more bruises on the rest of her body. It killed him to see the one thing he loved hurt so badly.

“What are you so perky about?” He half-heartedly grinned, trying not to take her into his arms right then and there. It was a herculean task, to say the least.

Her smile broke into a full grin and she chuckled, “Your shirt’s on backwards, silly.”

He felt his face color in embarrassment and he quickly pulled his arms back into the sleeves to fix it.

“Maybe you should look in the mirror before you leave.” She cackled.

“Yeah, yeah.” He was smiling now also. He didn’t do much more than that around her: embarrass himself and then laugh about it. She was never shy about letting him know when he was doing something stupid. That was one of the things he loved about her.

That was when the quarterback of the football team walked by and slapped Natasha’s butt with a huge smirk on his face.

Clint filled with anger as he walked over to the tall, ignorant jerk and punched him square in the jaw.

Natasha laughed pleasantly and grabbed Clint’s hand before he could throw another punch, but he then kicked the guy in the nuts with unnecessary force.

“That was nice,” she said, laughing as the guy hobbled away and the teacher finally noticed the commotion. Clint fell to the ground and groaned, faking an injury to keep himself out of trouble. “You do know that chivalry is dead, right?”

He just rolled his eyes at her. He hated guys that looked at her like she was just a piece of meat. He couldn’t just stand there and let him get away with  _that_.

Nat got off her knees and swiftly walked over to the quarterback, and in her graceful style, round-house kicked him in the stomach. He fell over in pain and clenched at his gut. He probably had a couple of bruised ribs. He’d be alright.

Natasha happily pranced back over to Clint and helped him with his façade, putting his arm around her shoulder and supporting him to walk to the nurse’s office. Once they were out of ear-and-eyeshot of the coach, Clint walked on his own and glared at Natasha. “That was stupid, Nat. I had that handled.”

She giggled. “You’re the idiot. I could’ve punched him myself. And handled? You fell to the ground in mock pain to keep yourself out of trouble.”

He scoffed. “Sorry for defending you, Nat. It’ll never happen again,” he muttered sarcastically.

“I was going to punch him!” She exclaimed loudly.

“What he did was wrong. He didn’t have the right. And he probably got off on you kicking him. I couldn’t just _ignore_ the bastard.” He looked at the ground, wondering if he’d ever get the courage to tell her how he really felt about her.

Her expression softened, and she smiled again. “Thanks for defending me, Clint. That was sweet.”

It was obvious that she was just trying to get him to calm down, but he gave her a lopsided smile anyway, happy that she’d at least given in. “No problem, Nat,” he said and put his arm around her narrow shoulders. It wasn’t a problem at all. He’d do anything to protect her.

———————

When they finally found themselves in front of the nurse’s office, after having taken the long way there, Natasha rang the alert bell and sat next to Clint on one of the plastic waiting-room style chairs.

“If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna wait here with you.” She smiled weakly, almost insecurely. She’d never been uncertain of herself around him until now. She’d never felt uncertain of herself  _ever_ until now. It was an odd feeling.

“Yeah, I’d rather you would. I’ve always hated the nurse. Why am I here anyway?”

“In case Coach decides to check with the nurse to see if we actually came here. Got to cover our tracks, right?” She winked at him.

He gazed at her sleepily. How had he ever gotten so lucky?

A silence fell over them, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. In fact, it was very comfortable. And warm. Clint began to doze off against Natasha’s shoulder when she spoke.

“Clint?” She looked at him liked a kicked puppy, and he instantly sat up straight.

“What’s wrong?” He asked with genuine concern in his voice.

“You wanted to know where my bruises come from.” She half stated, half asked.

Clint just gave her a slight nod of his head. Of course he wanted to know, but he wouldn’t force her to tell him. His protectiveness kicked in as he prepared for her explanation.

She sighed. This wasn’t something she’d ever told anyone. Hell, she hardly discussed it with herself. She didn’t want to believe it was true. She looked into Clint’s grey eyes; the eyes that she’d grown used to and now thought were extremely attractive, and gave him another weak smile. He wanted to know, and goddamn her if she wasn’t going to tell him. She loved him, for Christ’s sake. She couldn’t hide anything from him. “It’s my father. You probably guessed that, but now you know.”

He frowned deeply at the odd pulling sensation in his chest. He was filled with a mixture of anger and sadness for her. He pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll kill him.”

“I don’t think you can. Enough people have tried, believe me.” She sniffled into Clint’s black t-shirt.

He cocked his head. “What?”

She leaned up and looked him in the eyes. In an almost-whisper, she told him, “I’m not an exchange student, Clint. My dad’s a criminal and I’ve been so many places because he’s running.” She shook her head. “I understand if you don’t want to get any more involved with me because of that. I should’ve told you sooner.”

Clint looked at her wide-eyed, not at her confession, but at her accusation. “I don’t care if you’re an exchange student. I don’t care if your dad’s a freakin’ terrorist. I l…” he began, but trailed off. “You’re my best friend, and there’s nothing you could tell me that would change that. Unless you mutilate dogs for fun. That’s a line for me.” His lame joke didn’t go over well. She just frowned at the floor. “Seriously though. I’ll kill him.”

She bit her lower lip. “He’s a nice man, but sometimes he just gets violent.”

He glared at her, his anger bubbling up again. “You can’t let him do that, Nat.”

She gave him a no-shit-Sherlock look and said, “What the hell am I supposed to do? It’s not like my parents are divorced and I can just go live with my mom. It’s just me and him. Not that he even cares.”

Clint thought for a moment. He gently rubbed her hand with his thumb as he looked at her and said, “You could come live with me, if you wanted to.” He and some pretentious guy who was never home shared a flat. It was small, but he could sleep on the couch or something. All that mattered was that she was out of danger.

A flicker of hope flashed in Natasha’s eyes but she didn’t let it show on her face. “Are you serious?” He couldn’t be.

He nodded and kissed her forehead, an involuntary action. God, she was pretty. That was all he could think. “Yeah, of course. You could take my room. I don’t mind at all. My roommate is never home. He won’t care.”

She finally let herself smile and she shrugged. “I can sleep on the couch. I work anyway. I can help, just- God, Clint!” She threw herself into his arms and hugged him with all her might.

Clint hugged her back with equal enthusiasm and rubbed her back. “You’ll be taking my bed, and you don’t need to pay for anything. I’m just… I’m glad you’re letting me help.”

She sighed in relief and nuzzled his temple. “We can talk about it later.” She squeezed him again. “Thank you. I- Really, Clint. Thanks.”

He looked down at her and smiled. “It’s no problem, Nat.”

She took in his scent; he didn’t wear cologne, but he still smelled great. And manly. “Mmm.” She just couldn’t stop hugging him and everything she was feeling was welling up inside of her and she couldn’t help it and, “I love you.”

Clint’s eyes opened wide. Had she really just said what he thought she said? He gently pushed her back and ran his hands down her arms to hold her hands and asked, “What’d you say?”

She gulped as she felt her face turn red. “Uh, I said, ‘I love you.’” To hell with it. Now was as good a time as any to tell him.

Clint thought his chest was going to burst with happiness. Maybe God did exist.

He smiled warmly, leaned forward and kissed her. It felt so…  _right_  to have her full pink lips pressed against his. He felt something slide into place in his chest, and he just felt  _whole._

He pulled back and put his palms to her face, running his thumbs along her cheekbones. “I love you too, Nat.” The smile on her face was the happiest, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d never loved anyone before. He was glad she was the first, and if he had his way, she’d also be the last.

She leaned in to give him another quick kiss. She could get used to that: not having to have an excuse to stare at him, being able to kiss him freely. Yes, this would be an easy role to assume. She chuckled at the thought. “Maybe neither of us will have to take the couch, eh?” She smiled wickedly.

He was taken aback by her boldness, but he just laughed. “Maybe not.” He took his time studying every inch of her face, not believing that she was  _his._

_Finally._


End file.
